


Sense Memory

by cosmosmariner



Series: Ficlet in a Coma [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosmariner/pseuds/cosmosmariner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya might be in a coma, but his mind is still among the living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sense Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/22/10 at my writing journal.

The last thing that Illya Kuryakin remembered before the world turned upside down was the sound of Napoleon’s anguished scream.

It was dark. He could feel the darkness more than see it - it surrounded him, consumed him. He couldn’t see anything, really… it seemed that he was blind. He couldn’t move, either. He started to understand fear, and fear began to swallow him whole.

He heard his mother call to him.

_Illya…Illya… moi mal'chik… Illya, come to me…_

“Yes, Mama, but can I say goodbye to Napoleon first?” he asked.

_Illya… mal’chik… I’m not going to wait…_

“Mama, I must tell Napoleon that I am going…”

Her voice became harsher. The soothing words started to have an edge to them. Again, she called to him, and again, Illya replied that he needed to say goodbye to Napoleon.

 _You will come, Nickovetch!_ His mother became a monster, a dark and evil force. Illya did not know about heaven or hell, did not believe that such places existed. But when he heard his mother’s sweet voice become a tool for such anger, such malice…he could only describe it as a demon.

 _Illya! Go to sleep!_ His false mother called again.

 **Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!** his mind screamed.

_Sleep! Give up, it would be better this way._

**Fight! Fight! Fight, Kuryakin. He would fight for you.**

He wanted to run - he wanted to flee into that darkness, that easy void that could devour him whole and end the madness that enveloped him. But he knew that there was no way out of the darkness, and that the closer he got to it, the further he was from Napoleon.

He could almost feel Napoleon’s voice on his skin. Illya knew he was there. He could smell the essence of his partner there - spice, wood, the starch of his shirts, the warm earthy smell of his leather holster. That was Napoleon, day in and day out. Comfort. Soothing. Home.

“Illya…”

**Napoleon! I can hear you…I can feel you…just touch me, once, please…**

Illya could sense Napoleon’s hand hovering over his head, a little contact with Illya’s hair and forehead. The vibrations seemed to echo across Illya’s skin.

**Napoleon…please…do it again. I need you. I’m scared.**

Napoleon touched him again, then took his hand away. Illya could hear him sitting on a creaky chair next to his bed, then heard the sudden and sharp intake of breath that preceded a cry. A soft rustle, a sob, and then heavy sighs.

“Illya… come back. Come back. I can’t do this alone.”

**Fight. Fight. Fight!**

There was an incessant beeping sound, then a rush of squeaky shoes and the rattle of metal. Napoleon was gone - his scent dissipated.

**Napoleon…come back…you’re not the only one who can’t do it alone…**

The nurses and doctors left his side, and the room was silent. Nothing but beeps, the softness of his own breathing. When was Napoleon coming back?

He wished that he could open his eyes, raise his hand, just to be able to look into Napoleon’s eyes, take his partner’s hand into his when Napoleon put it on top of his chest. He had felt that before; Napoleon had put his hand on Illya’s heart. Whispering. Willing it to beat stronger.

“Illya, you can do it. Fight. Fight for us.”

**Fight.**

He would fight. He would survive. He would crawl away from the darkness, back to life. Back to love. Back to Napoleon.


End file.
